Grace Under Pressure
by Tique
Summary: The seduction of Mitchell Laurio from Mystique's point of view.


            "Rough day…Mr. Laurio?"  

I saunter towards him, relishing the expression of total paralysis on his face as reason and logic give way to the persuasions of his genitals.  Stupid, stupid man.  I knew from the moment I saw his photo on Stryker's computer that he would be hard to stomach, but upon seeing him in person for the first time…well, I felt vaguely queasy.

            It wasn't so much the thought of seducing him that bothered me.  I've fucked for the Cause before, and though I don't always enjoy it, I realize its necessity, and I love the power.  I love the deception.  Men often forget how vulnerable they are in sex, and I get aroused from the realization that my enemies expose themselves to me in the most extreme way possible without knowing it until it's simply too late.  It isn't always easy, though.  In the worst moments, his name runs through the back of my mind in a steady stream.  It did so now.

            _Erikerikerikerikerikerikerikerikerik_

            No stress, no pitch.  One word.

            _Erikerikerikerikerik_

            "You want another beer?  'Course you do."  I sit down across the table, smiling with Grace's face.  She's a doll, absolutely.  If I met her on the street, I'd want her too.

            Weird thought, that one.

            I slide a beer stein across the table.  A pair of pills dissolve quickly in its depths.  I gaze up at him with Grace's blue eyes, through Grace's thick, dark lashes.  He's excited now.  How would it be for him to see my true form?  I'm beautiful and I know it, but he doesn't.  Most…seem to miss that.  Not Erik, though.  Never Erik.  I sip the beer in my mug, repressing a wince.  I never was one for beer, and this sort is particularly revolting—bitter, bordering on sour.  It's just the kind of shit they'd serve in a hole like this.  I'm pretty sure they water it down in the back.

            Laurio doesn't seem to mind it, though.  He stares back at me, slackjawed, mouth gaping like a fish.  His eyes are dull, piggy, sunken in the great rolls of blubber that seem to compose the majority of his face.  

            _Erikerikerikerikerikerikerikerik_

            I wink.

            His face displays the first signs of actual emotion I've seen, and his slobby lips twist into what he probably thinks is a seductive grin.  I stand, balancing on the tiny high-heels I've created for Grace's shoes, and saunter towards the bathroom.  He'll follow me.  I know it.

            It's going to be filthy, but I suppose I didn't expect anything better.  And the plan is going so well so far.

            We crash through the swinging door, groping, fumbling for each other.  His lips find mine and I don't resist; Grace wouldn't.

            _Erikerikerikerikerikerikerikerik_

            Urinals on my right, a row of putrid toilets to my left…well, we can't have anybody walking in on our lovemaking, can we?  I steer him towards a stall, sucking messily at his mouth.  He smelled awful but he tastes worse—all beer and cigarettes, some sort of mayonnaise…roast beef.  The bile rises in my throat and I grope desperately at him mostly so he won't have a chance to touch me.  It may be Grace's body, but it's still my skin.

            "You're really aggressive!"  

            I laugh, breathing hard.  "Yes I am."  He has no idea.

            I grope blindly for the stall door, yank it open, push him in.  He's still trying to kiss me, and I concede just long enough to put my purse down.  

He grunts.  "I've never hooked up with a woman like you before!"

"I know," I smirk.  This just keeps getting funnier.

He's still trying to kiss me, pressing up against my body with his own.  I can feel his cock straining through his regulation brown work slacks.  It's disgusting, too much to take.  I push him away.

  He's down on the toilet in seconds, gazing up at me drunkenly.  I'm not sure how much he drank before I got there, but it was probably enough.  I fall to my knees  before him.  He protests the condition of the bathroom—it's dirty, and I suppose a connoisseur like himself is accustomed to better things—and I make some kind of pun, some idiotic play on words.            

I'm eager to get this over with and hand him his mug of beer.  He's grinning down at me while I fumble at his fly.  It tears open easily.

"Velcro," I smirk.  "_Nice_."  Disgusting.

I'm willing to do anything I have to, but I hope I don't have to.  I'd have sucked him off, I'd have fucked him.  But then he lifts the remainder of the beer to his lips, tipping his head back.          

"Bottoms up."

I step back.  "I certainly hope so."

He downs the remainder of the beer, and then he's down too.  Slumped over on the toilet like that, he salivates, his eyes roll back.  He belches.  

Beautiful.

I flip his prone form over onto the toilet, jerking his pants down and revealing a pair of straining white briefs over giant, porcine buttocks.  It would have been a repulsive sight, had I been really seeing anything at that point.  I jerk the vial from my purse and jam the needle into his flesh.  

"Bottoms up."  Damn, I'm witty.

At this point I'm so high on achievement that I can't help but laugh.  The liquid metal empties into his body, into his veins.  It will kill him in a day or two if Erik doesn't get to him first; I can only hope he doesn't have too much of a hangover tomorrow.  Wouldn't want him to miss work, after all.  I release myself, slipping into my own form.  The pills I put in the beer won't last more than a few hours, but when he wakes up, he'll remember Grace…and she'll be gone.

Got to cover my tracks.  I'm Grace again, all creamy skin and glossy hair and wide, pink lips.  Stalking out of the bathroom, I make a show of yanking my coat back on—it really is a coat, and not me—and adjusting my short dress.  I glare at the bartender as if disgusted, and jerk my thumb backwards.  

"Stupid pig passed out in the can," I snarl in Grace's voice.  "When he wakes him, be sure to tell him how fucking pathetic he is."

He will.  Now there is no mysterious woman who disappeared without a word.  There is no drugging.  There's only Grace, the statuesque female who Laurio missed his chances with because he's a drunk who can't hold his liquor.  I can't help but smile with smug satisfaction as I exit the bar.

My Erik will be so proud.


End file.
